


The Chair Mutiny

by dementorsatemysoup



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amused Nat, F/M, Fluff, Pre-Relationship, Wedding Crasher Clint, i don't know what I am doing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 00:09:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3588990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dementorsatemysoup/pseuds/dementorsatemysoup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"i crashed your family member’s wedding for the free food but hi there" au</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Chair Mutiny

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have a lot of experience writing non-slash pairings, so bear with me. Also, I found this post on tumblr, with a list of aus, and I thought this one was cute... Maybe I should have went with Stucky... Oh well.
> 
> Thanks for reading.
> 
> Also, I know it says 'Family Member' but I think I made Natasha Pepper's assistant or something (I didn't mention it, but that's what I had in mind). So, yeah.

Clint stands next to the food table, holding a paper plate in his hand, looking at all the crap scattered across the surface, trying to decide what he wants. He’s not sure what that green stuff is, but he globs it on his plate anyway (he likes trying new things). He adds a few spoonfuls of some fancy looking salad, along with a couple pieces of baked chicken. He can’t help comparing this spread to the last wedding he crashed and wishing he were there right now (at least _that_ wedding had pigs in a blanket).

“Bride or groom?” someone suddenly asks, appearing at his side, and he very nearly drops his plate. He turns to see a redheaded woman standing next to him, a faintly amused look on her face as she watches him.

She’s wearing a sleeveless black dress with a slit up the right side, her hair tied back into a tight bun, with a pair of red pumps, and Clint can’t help glancing down at his attire. He’s in a purple hoodie, brown corduroy pants, and a pair of Converse sneakers. Clearly, she knows he doesn’t belong here, he  _definitely_  knows he’s not supposed to be there, so he figures why lie.

“Free food,” he says holding up his plate.

“At least you’re honest,” she states dryly, nabbing a glass of champagne from a waiter that passes her.

“So, who’s wedding is this?” Clint adds some weird, yellow cake things to his plate.

“Isn’t it proper wedding crashing etiquette to  _know_  whose wedding you're crashing?”

“I don’t make it a habit of crashing weddings,” he lies adding some jello things to his already mounting pile.

“Uh-huh.” She gives him a skeptical look, but her lips still quirk up in a small smile. “Enjoy the reception.” She walks away, disappearing into the crowd, and Clint nearly abandons his plate to follow her, but he decides against it in the end, returning his attention to the food instead.

When his plate is full, he wanders away from the food, seeking out an empty spot so he can sit down. He notices the tables have name cards on them and decides to commandeer a seat next to someone named Natasha.

“Well,” he squints at the tag sitting in front of him, “James Barnes, whoever you are, I am you now,” Clint mutters stabbing at his green goop. He shovels some into his mouth and promptly spits it out. “Why?”

He uses his fork to move the goop away from the rest of his food,afraid it will infect the rest with its toxic fumes, looking around for a place to wipe the excess off, jumping slightly when a napkin appears in his line of sight.

“Thank you?” he takes the napkin, looking up at the same redhead from earlier. “Hey, it’s you.”

“It’s me.” She sits next to him, in Natasha’s chair, and Clint silently wonders if this Natasha is going to appear suddenly with James and demand the return of their seats. It could very well become a chair mutiny, and Clint would lead the rebellion.

 _God,_ he needs to get out of his head. He points at the green stuff and asks, “What is this crap?”

“Good question.” The red head wrinkles her nose, studying the stuff closely for a few seconds. She shrugs and says, “It doesn’t look edible.”

“It’s not.”

She smiles softly, shaking her head. “So, do you have a name or should I keep referring to you as The Wedding Crasher?”

“Would you believe it if I said my name was James?”

“No,” she states deadpan, but he can still see the amusement in her eyes.

“I didn’t think so,” Clint replies. “I’m Clint.”

“Natasha.”

“As in…?” he points at her name card and she nods. “So, I should probably move?”

“James isn’t here.”

“Okay.” Clint pokes at his food with his fork, looking around the room at all the wedding guests, all dressed to the nines (some of the dresses and tuxes looking like they cost more than six months worth of Clint’s rent), and he blurts out, “Seriously, whose wedding is this?”

She gives him a smug smile. “Still haven’t figured it out yet?”

“I don’t exactly check the newspapers before crashing these things.”

Natasha stands up without a word, walking away, and for a brief second Clint actually thinks he insulted her somehow, but she returns a few moments later carrying a wedding program.

“Here.” She hands it to him, retaking her seat, and Clint glances down at it, doing a double take to make sure he read the names correctly.

“Stark?  _The_  Anthony Stark?”

“Yep. Though, he prefers Tony,” Natasha responds dryly. “He wanted the invitations to say ‘Genius, Billionaire, Playboy, Philanthropist Tony Stark,’ but Pepper said no.”

“He’s not going to have me murdered in my sleep is he?” Clint asks, only half joking, putting the program down slowly so as not to summon Tony Stark to his table (or his _not_  table).

“Tony won’t,” Natasha reassures him before promptly adding, “Pepper might.” He can’t tell if she’s joking or not and that unnerves him just a little.

Clint searches for something new to talk about, but Natasha beats him to the punch. “Is free food the  _only_  reason you crash weddings?”

He shrugs, scooping up a forkful of the fancy salad. “I live in an apartment with two other guys who eat anything remotely edible. Sometimes this is the  _only_  time I eat.” He takes a bit of the salad only to spit it out. He puts his fork down, pushing his plate away from him, wiping his tongue with his napkin. “I miss the pigs in a blanket.”

“Do you wanna get out of here?” Natasha asks curiously, after a beat, and Clint cracks his neck when his head jerks towards her, wincing in pain.

“Seriously? Won’t they miss you?”

Natasha shrugs, getting to her feet, slowly sashaying away from him. “Where’s your sense of adventure?” she calls over her shoulder.

Clint scrambles out of his chair, following Natasha towards the exit. “Where are we going?”

“I don’t know,” she answers with a cryptic smile on her face, “but I hear Budapest is nice this time of year.”


End file.
